


Strength of the Land (The New Growth Remix)

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 2020 Camelot Remix, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Canon Era, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, In which Gwaine is NOT tortured and left to die feeling like a failure, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24499519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: Gwaine takes his promise as Steward of the land very seriously, as seriously as he guards his friendship with Merlin and his oath to Camelot. He fights for Merlin and the land until the very end.And at the end, the land is there for him.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19
Collections: Camelot Remix 2020





	Strength of the Land (The New Growth Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Linorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/gifts).
  * Inspired by [New Growth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13326828) by [Linorien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien). 



> Dear Linorien, I really enjoyed reading your works! Thank you for the opportunity to build on them. New Growth in particular is one of my favorites. I started with it because you mentioned it as your starred work and I returned to it over and over again. I was captivated by the idea of Gwaine as Steward of the land. I hope you enjoy this expansion on your fic!
> 
> Thank you to [Enremus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enremus/pseuds/Enremus) for the encouragement. Thank you to the mods for organizing the event.

Gwaine followed Merlin to the mouth of a cave, dark and endless like an unlit night.

He reached instinctively for his sword.

"I can make my own way from here."

Gwaine stopped a few paces behind Merlin, his gaze falling to his friend's stiff back. They barely spoke during their ride from Camelot. Words didn't seem necessary. Gwaine understood without being told that Merlin had requested his help for an important task, important enough to pull them away from Arthur and the army on the day they were set to ride for Camlann.

He wouldn't leave Merlin to face such an undertaking alone.

"Sorry?" he asked, shifting forward.

Merlin kept his back to him. He looked small framed against the darkness of the cave. "You needn't come any further. I'll be fine."

Gwaine shook his head. Merlin was capable, more than he let on, but Gwaine wasn't about to leave him. Gwaine had the misfortune of stumbling through his fair share of darkened caves. There was no telling what lay in wait beyond the rocky entrance.

"How will you get back to Camelot?" he asked, trying for reason. "There are bandits everywhere."

Merlin still didn't turn. "Once I have what I'm looking for, I'll be perfectly safe. I promise you."

There was sadness to Merlin's voice, a heavy sense of loss that had followed them from Camelot. Gwaine longed to do more than ride at Merlin's side and dispatch a few bandits. He felt he could help if only he knew what Merlin was mourning.

"What are you looking for?"

"I can't tell you that, Gwaine. You'll just have to trust me."

Merlin turned then, his eyes shadowed with fear and regret.

Tears rose unbidden to Gwaine's eyes, blurring his vision of his friend.

He wasn't hurt because there were secrets kept between them. He still held secrets of his own - an oath made to a magic bridge keeper, a promise to protect more than Arthur and the people of Camelot. He was saddened by the burden on Merlin's shoulders, one he'd watched grow over the years until Merlin seemed to bow unconsciously under its weight. He knew that Merlin asked for trust because speaking the truth would only further weigh him down.

Gwaine would give Merlin what he asked and nothing more.

"You should get going," Merlin said. An attempt at casualness lifted his tone, as if they weren't on the eve of war. "Arthur will need you at his side."

Gwaine swallowed around the tightness in his throat. He wondered, not for the first time, which king he was truly meant to walk beside. He forced a smile to his face despite Merlin's dismissal.

"Look after yourself, Merlin," he said, hearing his voice waver. His words sounded like a parting request, bearing a finality that Gwaine didn't mean or intend. He unsheathed his sword and held it out to Merlin, hilt first. "You know to use the sharp end, right?" he teased, almost managing a laugh.

Merlin echoed his attempt at humor. He smiled as he took the blade, tight but true. "Oh, yeah."

Gwaine extended his arm to meet Merlin's. Their hands caught firmly on the other's forearm, fingers grasping tight to leather and mail. It was familiar and warm and Gwaine was loathe to let go. He left the touch only because Merlin was waiting for him to do so. He stepped back, not knowing how to leave his friend.

"I hope you find what you're looking for."

Merlin nodded his thanks.

Gwaine felt his tears threatening to spill over as Merlin stood, sword in hand, determined to go on alone.

He gave a final nod and turned back to the narrow pass that had brought them to the cave.

* * *

"Tell me where the king is."

Gwaine looked up at Morgana, adrenaline pounding in his head.

They had been reckless, he could see that now. A handful of men were no match for two skilled Knights of Camelot but he and Percival had underestimated Morgana and her powers, an error born out of haste, hurt, and fear. Percival had been just as eager as Gwaine to ride out; they had both been too eager to seek vengeance and end a war that had brought nothing but turmoil to the home they'd found in Camelot.

He couldn't take those decisions back. He could only press on, one course of action available to him.

Gwaine raised his chin and met Morgana's eye, continued recklessness curling his smile.

"I'd rather die," he said, with vigor.

Morgana stepped forward, holding a heavy chest in both hands. He was at the disadvantage - bound and likely injured, with a renewed understanding of what Morgana was capable of - but he refused to show fear. He kept his head up, stealing glances at the trees for any sign of Percival.

Morgana set the chest down at her feet.

"Then you shall have your wish," she said, her tone even and almost gracious. She knelt before him, her hands sliding over the edge of the chest. "Once you've told me." Morgana's feigned graciousness went deathly cold as she uncoupled the latch. "Not even you, Sir Knight, can resist the charms of the nathair."

Gwaine reared back against his bonds, the pounding in his head complaining at the sudden movement.

The creature, the nathair, skinny and sleek and black as night, rose from the chest, hissing at him almost seemingly in delight. Gwaine had heard of these creatures before; he had the displeasure of seeing one burrow into the skin of an unsuspecting merchant who had crossed the wrong slaver. They were creatures of magic, used to wring the truth from a person through pain and suffering.

Gwaine had hoped never to see one again.

Morgana used a hand to help the nathair slither from the chest and onto Gwaine's arm. Its body was cold but its fangs sparked heat where they skimmed along his skin. The nathair wound its way up towards his neck, Morgana looking on as the creature coiled beneath the edge of Gwaine's mail.

Gwaine choked down on his fear, praying that would be enough to keep him silent.

A shriek hit his ear and the cold movement of the nathair ceased. Panic shook him and the creature fell from its perch, falling lifelessly into the grass. Morgana leaned over the nathair, touching it hesitantly with her fingers. When it didn't stir, she pushed to her feet, whipping around to shout at the shadows.

"Who did that?!" she demanded. "Show yourself!"

"I see Vengeance is upon us."

Gwaine sat up, loose in the slack of his bonds as the adrenaline eased in his blood. He craned his neck to see a familiar face approach from between the trees.

"Who are you?" Morgana shouted.

"I am merely a servant of the land," said Grettir. He held his hands out in an unassuming gesture.

Morgana stalked towards Grettir. "This doesn't involve you. You will pay for your interference," she threatened.

Grettir folded his hands together. "You lack the power to raise such threats against us."

"I am a high priestess!"

"And we are the land," Grettir said, not even blinking in the face of Morgana's fury. "We are where magic was born, where it lives, even yours. It would not be wise to turn on us with what we gave you."

" _We?_ " Morgana asked, mocking and bitter.

Grettir raised one of his hands.

The woods themselves seemed to part.

The trees shifted, their canopies opening and the space between their trunks widening as all manner of creature stepped out from the shadows. Birds, some in colors and shapes Gwaine had never seen, flew down from the sky and took hold in the trees. Rabbits, stoats, deer, and boar, every type of game gathered among the tree roots, crowding around other creatures Gwaine knew only from legend. Tall, formidable figures whose bodies were half man, half horse. Feminine beings who seemed to be made of foliage, light, and water itself. Small winged creatures with jeweled bodies that flitted through the air, the beat of their wings almost humming a song.

To Gwaine's heavy head, it looked like a dream.

Even Morgana seemed taken aback.

"We are the land," Grettir said again, a chorus of sound rising in agreement around him, "and we will not abide any harm to come to the Steward. Not by your hand, not with magic."

Morgana looked around at the creatures that encircled her. She stood to her full height, her hands held out as weapons.

"I could strike you all down," she said, meeting the various gazes in the trees.

"It would not be your first offense against your own kind," Grettir said, resuming the fold of his hands. "But it would be your last."

Morgana took a step towards him. "You dare threaten me?"

"We do not threaten, only warn. As I said, you lack the power to raise such threats against us." Grettir made way for a pack of wolves to pass, led by one with coal black fur and eyes as red as fire. It reared to stand taller than Morgana. "There are other ways to find the information you seek. Choose a path that will not force our hand."

Morgana, to her credit, stood steadfast in the face of the dark, growling maw. She raised her hands, an incantation seemingly poised on her lips before the rest of the creatures pressed in on her. Mice and frogs scattered underfoot as Morgana took a step back, her hands still raised to ward off any threats.

"This isn't over," she said, backing up to the edge of the circle.

"For us, it is."

Morgana narrowed her eyes at Grettir. She glanced at Gwaine before looking over the assembled creatures again. She turned without a final word, disappearing between the trees.

Gwaine sagged in his bonds once she was gone. His body felt heavy despite his relief. The pounding in his head surged to new heights without adrenaline to lift his other senses.

"How do you fare, Strength?" Grettir asked as he approached.

"Not half bad, thanks to you lot," Gwaine said, trying to find his smile. It was there but weak, like the rest of him. "Thank you."

Grettir shook his head. "There is no need for thanks."

He spoke an incantation and Gwaine's bonds disappeared. Without the ropes holding him up, Gwaine fell forward, slouching in the grass. He pushed himself up to sit on his knees, rubbing a hand over his wrists.

"Has she really gone?" he asked.

"She will not live to return," Grettir said with mysterious certainty.

Gwaine nodded, more than satisfied with that answer.

"I need to find Percival," he said, getting to his feet. He immediately faltered, falling to his hands and knees. Gwaine braced himself on one arm and lifted a hand to his pounding head; it came back streaked with blood. "Oh," he mumbled, the revelation making him dizzy.

"Your injuries are worse than we thought," Grettir said, appearing at Gwaine's side. He turned to the circle of creatures surrounding them. "He needs healing. Fetch the young one. We must lay him down somewhere."

A creature made entirely of stone, standing taller than two men, moved around Grettir to Gwaine. It stooped and lifted Gwaine as if he weighed nothing, carrying him through the trees in an embrace that was more gentle than he ever imagined stone could be. It stepped into a sunlit clearing and laid him down in a patch of soft, sweet smelling grass.

Grettir and the stone creature knelt on either side of Gwaine, the latter shading his eyes from the sun. Gwaine could see rabbits approach from the edge of the clearing and then part as one of the beings made of foliage, light, and water came to sit across from Grettir. They were smaller than the others of their kind that Gwaine had seen earlier, the leaves marking their face the bright, fresh green of spring. They placed a hand of water on Gwaine's forehead. A cooling sensation could be felt seeping into his body, not unlike the flow of a river running over bare feet.

"The wound is deep," the being spoke in a voice as light as birdsong. They looked over him at Grettir. "We need to stay his spirit before his body becomes too weak."

The pounding in Gwaine's head had mercifully subsided. He tried to sit up but was guided back down by stone, water, hand, and paw.

"I need to find Percival," he persisted.

"We will find your companion," said Grettir, his hand still pressed to Gwaine's shoulder. "You need to rest."

"But-"

Grettir met Gwaine's reaching hand and pat it down to his chest. "You have protected Merlin, and thus protected this land for many years. Allow us to return the favor."

Gwaine nodded, finding he was too tired to do anything else. His pain was gone and his head felt clear but a heavy cover of exhaustion seemed to settle on and wrap around him. The variety of creatures above him, known and previously unknown, looked more and more like a dream. He turned when a familiar touch nuzzled at his hair. Instead of a horse, his weary eyes found the elegant, white nose of a unicorn pressed to his temple.

He turned to Grettir, a name pushing through his hazy thoughts.

"Merlin," he said. Grettir waited for him to continue. "I never told him."

Grettir smiled, sure and sincere. "Sometimes it is kinder to carry what burdens we can for others."

Gwaine sighed as he settled back in the grass. Activity in the clearing quieted to just the rustling of the wind through the trees. A wolf returned to curl around his shoulders, resting its head on his chest where watery hands seemed to glow like sunset bouncing off a still lake. He let his eyes close, taking comfort in Grettir's words.

"Sleep now," Grettir said, his voice drifting away. "Sleep until the return of the once and future king."

* * *

Gwaine woke refreshed and well rested in a bed he didn't recognize.

It was hardly the first time but recognition of his surroundings eluded him more than usual.

He pushed up in the bed to sit among pillows and linens that were finer than any he had ever experienced. Gwaine had passed through the beds of a few nobles and the occasional princess but the bed he currently sat in exceeded them all in every aspect of comfort. It was soft and cool, it even smelled better; he couldn't name the gentle scent that lived in the bed covers but it reminded him of a flowered breeze on a warm summer's day.

The unfamiliar finery extended beyond the bed to the rest of the room. It was spacious and open, furnished with polished dark woods and dressed in colors reserved only for the richest of people. Sunlight poured in through the wide, uncovered windows, shining over the edge of the bed and the black haired figure perched in a chair at his side.

Finally, something he recognized.

"Merlin?" he tried.

Merlin, indeed, perked up instantly. His head snapped up from where it was pillowed on his arms, his hair askew from being pushed back in sleep. He beamed, his smile brighter than Gwaine had ever seen.

"Gwaine!" he said, grabbing Gwaine's hand. "You're awake!"

"So it seems," Gwaine said, returning the firm grasp. He remembered with vivid clarity the last time he clasped hands with Merlin. He felt himself grin wide, unable and unwilling to rein in his relief. "How long was I asleep?"

"Long enough," Merlin said, his expression dimming.

Merlin's head dropped as he looked to his side. It was then that Gwaine noticed Arthur, standing behind the chair Merlin sat in, clad not in armor but a thick red tunic.

Gwaine couldn't stop himself. "Arthur! You're... Aren't you meant to be dying?"

"Nice to see you too, Gwaine," Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry to disappoint."

"He's fine," Merlin said, turning his head to look at Arthur. Merlin looked at him for a long moment, as if needing to convince himself of his own words. He turned back to Gwaine and gave his hand a squeeze. "Just like you," he said, smiling again, a little less bright but so very gentle. "Everything's fine."

Gwaine felt relief solidify in his chest, firm and reassured. "That's good to hear," he said, laughter coming easily. He took in Merlin, Arthur, and the warm, sunlit room. "But I have to ask, where are we?"

A door opened in the far corner of the room, drawing everyone's attention as Grettir entered. He carried a tray with a bowl and a glass of water, a tunic in green similar to Arthur's folded under his arm.

He paused at the foot of the bed and smiled.

"Ah, at last. Strength has awoken. The trio is complete."


End file.
